


silence is where your heartbeat synchronizes with mine

by The_German_Grim_Reaper



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Chiyoh doesn't show up until near the end, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Hannibal is in prison, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-Episode: s03e07 Digestivo, Sad Will Graham, Season 3B AU, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, don't worry they do get in contact with each other eventually, hannibal does not get the letters, jack and Alana are both in it too but they barely do anything so I didn't bother tagging them, oblivious will and lovesick hannibal, prison break - Freeform, will writes hannibal letters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:22:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26950591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_German_Grim_Reaper/pseuds/The_German_Grim_Reaper
Summary: Six months after the events at Muskrat Farm, Will is just about done with pretending to be 'normal'.  He writes Hannibal a letter.Hannibal never receives it.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 26
Kudos: 282





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> very loosely inspired by "Letters to God" by CarnivalMirai (https://archiveofourown.org/works/24265162)

Will made it nearly six months without contacting Hannibal. He _thought_ about him, of course, missed him with an ache that was almost too strong to ignore. But he did his best to ignore it regardless, pretended that things could go back to normal. That _he_ could go back to normal. He didn’t even go to the trial; with how much evidence they had against him, and with Hannibal himself pleading guilty, they had no need for Will’s testimony.

Will knew, logically, that he shouldn’t miss the man. That was what he’d told him, wasn’t it? That he wouldn’t miss him, wouldn’t think about him, didn’t want to know where he was. But Will _did_ know where he was, and he _did_ miss him, and he thought about him every damn day. 

Sometimes he thought about their past, when Will had been so utterly blind to his manipulations. Sometimes he thought about betrayal- Will recognizing Hannibal for what he was and being locked away. The knife entering his gut in that kitchen, Abigail bleeding out on the floor in front of him. Hannibal holding the bone saw to his head and Will knowing- _knowing_ \- that this was going to be the end for them. But most of all he thought about the good times. Hannibal bandaging his hands after he’d killed Randall Tier. Hannibal asking him- no, _begging_ him- to run away with him to Italy. Hannibal kneeling that night in the snow, surrendering himself to Jack because he wanted Will to always know where to find him.

Will thought about that night the most. It had been mid-morning when he’d kicked Hannibal out of his house. Gave him that speech, told him the teacup would never come together again. _I miss my dogs. I won’t miss you._ It had been ten pm by the time Jack had gotten there. Had Hannibal been sitting outside in his yard the whole time, waiting out in the cold for the FBI to arrive? Will tried very hard not to think about the implications of that.

It had been six months. Six months since Italy, since the bone saw, since Muskrat Farm. And today was the day that Will decided he’d had enough of pretending. He didn’t have any good paper, but honestly, Hannibal should be happy Will was writing to him at all. He managed to locate an old spiral notebook, one he’d used to make lesson plans back when he still taught at Quantico, and tore an empty page out from the back.

_Dear Hannibal_ , he wrote, then frowned at it. Hannibal wasn’t his _dear_ anything. He crumpled up that page and reached for another.

  
 _Hannibal_ , he tried, and that seemed to fit a bit better. It took him longer than it probably should have to finish the letter, but he found himself second-guessing every word choice as he wrote it. Why did he care so much what Hannibal thought? It wasn’t as if they were still _friends_. They’d tried to kill each other one too many times for that.

When he’d finished, he read over the letter in its entirety.

_Hannibal,_

_How is life in prison treating you? Is it wrong of me to hope you’re doing well? I should hate you. I don’t. You’ll be pleased to know that my wounds have healed nicely. Just another scar from you to add to the collection. Mason Verger is dead, although I’m sure you know that; I wonder if you killed him yourself or left Margot to do it like you’d planned._

_I told myself I would never write to you. That I could be happy knowing you were locked away and could never hurt me again. But even from the other side of those prison bars, I still can’t get you out of my head. I told you once that the voice of my thoughts sounded like you. It’s been six months since I’ve seen your face, and even then only for a few days. Before that, I spent weeks in the hospital trying to heal from the knife you put in my stomach. And even after all this time, the voice in my head still belongs to you._

_It’s funny how you’re the one in prison, but I still feel like I’m the one who’s trapped. I miss you, Hannibal. I would ask if you miss me, but I think we both know the answer to that._

_Unfortunately yours,_

_Will Graham_

It wasn’t perfect- no amount of words would be able to commit the mess that was Will’s feelings to paper- but it would be good enough. Hopefully Hannibal would respond. Will didn’t know what he’d do if he didn’t.

  
  


***

A week went by with no reply. Will knew he was being impatient, but that didn’t stop him from checking the mail every day and being disappointed when there was nothing there. He imagined that the letter had spent a day or two in the postal service, then another one being screened for harmful substances at the BSHCI, plus the same amount of time for Hannibal’s reply to make its way back to him. A week was a perfectly reasonable amount of time to wait, but Will found himself wondering with each passing day whether Hannibal had just decided not to respond.

By the end of the second week, Will was sure. He’d gone six months with no contact, but he’d been sure- absolutely _certain_ \- that Hannibal would respond right away. That he had been sitting in his prison cell, waiting patiently for Will to reach out. To think that he’d chosen not to reply was… well, it hurt. Will had finally given in, had finally written to the man who had ruined his entire life, and he couldn’t even be bothered to reply? No. Will was not going to accept that.

_Hannibal,_

_I have to admit, I was surprised not to receive a response to my previous letter. You turned yourself in for me, so even though we didn’t part on the best of terms, I find it hard to believe that you’re angry with me. Is it because I took so long to write? If so, you should really get over yourself. You know me well enough by now that it shouldn’t have come as a surprise._

_Things have been strange since that night. I never went back to my job at the FBI, not even just to teach- I’m not sure if they would let me, even if I wanted to. They gave me enough compensation after my stint in the BSHCI that I won’t have to worry about money for another couple of years. I’ve gone back to fixing boat motors in my spare time. It’s not the most glamorous life, but it keeps me busy. Most of my dogs found new homes while I was in Europe, so it’s just me and Winston now._

_I hope you’ll respond this time. We were never the most conventional of friends, but we_ _were_ _friends. Maybe on some level we still are. You turned yourself in to the FBI for me; I hardly think one letter is too much to ask._

_Will Graham_

He slid the letter into his mailbox with a sigh. He could really use some more whiskey.

  
  


***

He waited three weeks this time before sending his next letter. This one was shorter, angrier. He couldn’t regret the tone his letter had taken, not when he knew that Hannibal deserved so much worse than a strongly worded letter.

_Hannibal._

_Is this some kind of test? I sailed to Italy to find you. I’m not going to give up now just because you’re ignoring me. I’m not going to visit you in person, either. That’s probably what you’re aiming for, isn’t it? I think I deserve a letter before I go driving across state lines for a visit. Ignoring me is getting rather_ _rude_ _, Dr Lecter._

_Will Graham_

There was no response.

  
  


***

Hannibal had been in prison for ten months. Oh, technically it was a ‘hospital,’ but everyone knew what it really was. He had a rather nice cell- separated from the other prisoners, with bookshelves and a fireplace and even the occasional charcoal and paper for his drawings- but it was still a cell. He spent most days in his mind palace, only coming out when it was time for meals or the daily mail delivery.

He got a lot of mail. It was only natural, considering that he was arguably the most famous serial killer of the century. Most of it was fan mail. Some of it was from psychologists wanting to study his mind. A rare few letters were hate mail; there had been a significant amount when he’d first been incarcerated, but after so many months, the drama surrounding his conviction had died down considerably.

He wasn’t particularly interested in anything the mail had to offer him. The fans were annoying, the psychologists useless, the haters too predictable. The only reason he even bothered to check the mail anymore was because he was awaiting one specific letter.

It had been ten months since he’d seen Will Graham. Yes, a version of him lived in his mind palace, but that Will could never live up to the real thing. He wouldn’t be surprised if Will _never_ wrote- he always had been stubborn that way- but he knew he would see him again, one way or another. One of these days, there would be a killer so distressing that Jack would turn to Will for help. And Will… well, Will would turn to Hannibal.

He hoped he wouldn’t have to wait too much longer for this, but he did have access to the newspapers and hadn’t seen mention of any deaths particularly intriguing. So for now he was content to wait, sorting through his mail casually, not allowing Alana to see how dearly he wanted a letter from his beloved.

It was an ordinary Tuesday when he got the letter. A plain white envelope with no return address; it wasn’t unusual for people not to leave their address, especially on the hate letters, knowing that it was dangerous information for Hannibal to have. In fact, this particular letter would have been completely unremarkable were it not for the handwriting scrawled across the front. Hannibal frowned at it, trying to remember where he had seen that writing before, and then it hit him.

He brought the envelope up to his nose and breathed in deeply. Sure enough, beneath the overpowering blandness of the postal service, he could detect the faintest hint of whiskey and that atrocious aftershave Will insisted on wearing. It took a concerted effort to contain his excitement and not open the envelope right away. Instead, he set it to the side, stacking it on top of two others that he had deigned worthy of his notice. He would have to finish sorting through his mail as usual so as not to draw unwanted attention from his captors.

He only identified one more letter that he was interested in opening. Dropping the rest of his envelopes into the trash can, he dusted his hands off and returned to his desk to read.

The first letter was boring. It was from a woman in California, the sister of one of his first victims, asking for details about her brother’s murder. He probably would have been intrigued had it not been for the prospect of Will’s letter, sitting there so innocently on his desk, stealing away all of his attention from the others. As it was, he set the letter aside, resolving to respond to it later when he was less distracted.

The next letter was a mistake, a psychiatrist in Michigan wanting to secure an interview. He dropped it into the wastebasket unceremoniously, disappointed that it hadn’t been a more interesting request. The third was from a woman who wrote to him regularly, regretful of the fact that he would be unable to eat her while stuck in prison. She wasn’t the only one who wrote to him about such matters, but she had been one of the first, and he rather enjoyed corresponding with her about her potential demise.

With those letters finished, Hannibal turned to the one that truly drew his attention. Had he been a less controlled man, his hands might have shook as he carefully opened the envelope and slid the letter out. Will’s scent was stronger here, trapped inside the envelope despite the days it must have spent in the mail service. Hannibal unfolded it and began to read. However, he hadn’t even finished the first line when his carefully-controlled expression threatened to turn into a frown.

_I really fucking hate you sometimes. Does it even bother you? That you’ve done this to me? I don’t know what to do with myself anymore. I thought we really had something. I thought you… well, I don’t know what I thought. I know I’m the one who sent you away, but you’re the one who won’t write back. You’re the one who broke us._

_I don’t know why I keep writing these letters. It’s been four months with no reply. You’d think I’d have gotten the hint by now._

_You already know who this is from._

The lack of a proper greeting or signature would normally offend Hannibal, but these were anything but normal circumstances. Will had written to him… before? Hannibal checked all of his mail every day. He didn’t open all of it, but he read over every envelope. Every name and address. He could accept that maybe he’d missed one letter, but even that seemed unlikely. And from this one, it seemed that Will had written him multiple letters before… there was no way Hannibal had missed all of them. Which meant that something- or some _one_ \- was preventing Will’s letters from reaching him.

The smell of Will’s aftershave on the paper was mixed with the smell of whiskey. There were smudges on some of the words, wrinkles where he had gripped the paper too tightly, even a couple of marks that looked like tear stains. It was written on a crinkled piece of notebook paper, badly torn on one of the edges and then taped back together haphazardly. And Will’s handwriting was just off enough that it had taken Hannibal a few seconds to recognize it. All of that suggested that Will had been drunk when writing this letter.

But even with that, Will sounded… sad. Sad and bitter. Hannibal could understand why, if he’d been led to believe that Hannibal was deliberately ignoring his letters. _Four months_ , he thought, closing his eyes and trying to calm his racing heart. He’d been denied the comfort of Will’s correspondence for four months, and worse than that, Will thought Hannibal had rejected him. He couldn’t let his beloved go on thinking that, but how?

If someone- _Alana_ , his mind supplied, the only likely culprit- was blocking his mail from Will, she would most likely block any outgoing mail to him as well. He suspected that the only reason this letter had slipped through was the lack of return address. If Will, in his inebriated state, had forgotten to write it down, and whoever was in charge of checking the mail hadn’t been paying close attention to the handwriting, it was understandable that such a letter would slip by. Especially considering the sheer volume of mail that Hannibal received every day.

It would be easy enough to test this theory. He would write two letters to Will- one to send directly, free of any references to the letter he held in his hands. The other, the true letter, he would send through a proxy to ensure that it reached Will. If (as Hannibal suspected) he only received the one by proxy, he would know for sure that their correspondence was being tampered with.

Perhaps it was time to send one of his fans a letter.

  
  


***

Will wasn’t holding out much hope when he walked out to his mailbox. He wasn’t expecting a letter- although it was about time for his electric bill- but checking the mail had become a part of his daily ritual. Let the dogs out, check the mail, pour a glass of whiskey and mope.

As such, he was rather surprised when he opened the mailbox to see an envelope. It was a bright lime green, addressed in a loopy cursive he didn’t recognize. Still, it was his name on the envelope, so he carried the letter back inside.

He tore open the envelope carelessly, although he was careful to preserve the return address in case he should need it. When he pulled the letter out, however, his breath caught in his throat. It was written in cursive, yes, but not that loopy feminine writing that had been on the envelope. This was elegant, familiar, _beautiful_ , and he knew exactly who had written it.

_My dearest Will_ , it began, and Will scoffed. If he was so dear to Hannibal, why had it taken four months for him to send a simple letter? But he kept reading anyway, hungry for the words.

_My dearest Will,_

_I received a letter from you today that raised a great many questions in my mind. You alluded to a number of previous letters which you seem to believe I have deliberately ignored. It is with great regret that I must inform you that I never received these letters. I know not what they might have said, but I swear to you that I would have responded to each and every one. I suspect that someone, perhaps our old friend Dr Alana Bloom, may have been tampering with my mail._

_To test this theory I have sent you two separate letters. One of them I sent to you directly. The other, the one you are reading right now, I have sent through an acquaintance of mine. As this letter will have had to go through the postal service twice, I have no doubt that it will arrive several days after the false letter. If you have not yet received another letter from me, I find it very likely that someone is monitoring my outgoing mail as well._

_Regardless of the outcomes of this little test, I am very pleased to hear from you. When we last spoke, you said that you never wanted to hear from me again. I had feared that perhaps this was still the case. I turned myself in to the FBI for you, Will; I find that there is very little I would not do for you, if you asked. You are the most important person in the world to me._

_Please write again soon. You can send your letter through my proxy. I will eagerly await your reply._

_Yours truly,_

_Hannibal Lecter VIII_

Will stared at the letter, uncomprehending, for several minutes. Tears gathered in his eyes and began to roll down his cheeks. Hannibal hadn’t been ignoring him. _Hannibal hadn’t been ignoring him._ He’d spent the last four months thinking that he had done something wrong, that Hannibal didn’t want him anymore. To know that that wasn’t the case… it was more than he ever could have dreamed of.

_You are the most important person in the world to me._ He read that line over and over, memorizing the shape of it in his mind. He could say that he didn’t feel the same, but he would be lying. What had started as a game for Hannibal- _wind me up, watch me go_ \- had turned into something more. Something that, it seemed, both of them felt.

He reached for the bottle of whiskey and took a long drink, ignoring the burn as it slid down his throat. Tonight he wasn’t mourning. For the first time in a long time, he had something to celebrate.

And he had a letter to write.


	2. Chapter 2

_Hannibal,_

_  
__I almost had a heart attack when I opened that letter and saw your handwriting. Do you really think Alana would do something like that? I know she was… different when I saw her at Muskrat Farm, but it’s hard to believe she’d change that much. Isn’t this more like something Jack would do?_

_Honestly, right now I couldn’t care less which one of them was hiding the letters. I’m just glad we can talk now. Who’s this ‘acquaintance’ we’re using as a proxy? I wouldn’t have thought you had many friends left. If it was Chiyoh, you would have just told me that. And I can’t imagine Bedelia would be happy to ferry letters between the two of us. I guess it doesn’t really matter, but I’m curious. I never got the first letter you sent so I think you’re right that they’re watching your outgoing mail as well._

_If you never got my other letters, I guess there’s a lot I haven’t told you. I’m still living in Wolf Trap, but it’s just_ ~~_me and_~~ _Winston and I now. I have a lot of free time now that I’m not working with the BAU, so I fix boat motors sometimes. Mostly I just walk around the property and fish and try not to think about how much I miss you. Is that stupid of me to say? It’s true, though. I_ _do_ _miss you. At least before when you were gone I could focus on trying to find you. This time, I know exactly where you are._

_Why did you turn yourself in, Hannibal? And don’t just say that you did it for me. I_ _know_ _that’s why you did it. But you must have known I’d have come around eventually. As far as grand gestures go, this one was pretty ridiculous. And now you’re stuck in a place that I can’t even bring myself to visit._

_Will Graham_

  
  


***

  
  


_My dear Will,_

_Despite how many injuries I’ve caused you in the past, I’d prefer if you don’t have a heart attack on my account. And if you are going to have one, at least do me the courtesy of waiting until you see me in person again. I can assure you that Alana most certainly has changed ‘that much’, as you put it. She is the head of the BSHCI now, having taken over after Chilton’s retirement, and believe me when I say that she’s like a different person. I believe the realization of my betrayal, combined with her rather sudden defenestration at the hands of someone she was determined to protect, hardened her considerably. Consider yourself lucky for not having spoken to her recently. Every minute in her presence is grating. It may be hard to believe, but I find I would rather be trapped with Mason Verger than his unfortunate sister-in-law. At least with him I would be entertained._

_You shouldn’t worry yourself about the identity of my proxy. I’m sure you have looked her up based on her name and address; as you most likely discovered, she is the store manager of a McDonalds in New York City. She writes me rather frequently about various subjects, most often her disappointment that I was unable to murder her before my untimely arrest. In exchange for her help ferrying letters, I simply promised that I would eat her kidneys once my time in prison is done. I don’t expect it will taste very good, considering her occupation, but it’s a worthy trade in exchange for your correspondence._

_I trust that the rest of your pack have found good homes? I know how much you loved them and, although I was never fond of dogs before I met you, I would be most displeased if anything had happened to them. I’m glad that you have stepped back from the BAU, although I suspect this was more motivated by practical reasons than a concern for your mental health. And of course that is not stupid for you to say. I miss you as well, more than I ever thought possible. I spend most of my days deep within my mind palace, conversing with the version of you that resides there. Even still, it is not the same._

_You know exactly why I turned myself in, Will. If I say it, will I scare you away?_

_Yours truly,_

_Hannibal Lecter VIII_

  
  


***

_Hannibal,_

_Can’t stand the thought of me in pain unless you’re there to see it? Typical. I’ll do my best._

_I didn’t even know Alana worked there now. I guess I haven’t spoken with her since that day at the farm. We didn’t part on the best of terms, and it’s not like we’d been close for a long time before that anyway. Not since you put me in the BSHCI and she actually believed I’d done it. Funny how I’ve forgiven you for that, but I can’t find it in myself to forgive her. Sometimes I wish she had died when she fell out the window. I feel bad for thinking that, but I do._

_I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you have crazy fans. You are the Chesapeake Ripper, after all. Still, I can’t imagine somebody actually_ _wanting_ _you to eat them. That’s just weird, even for me. But I guess it doesn’t matter as long as she’s willing to keep passing on our letters. Hopefully Alana won’t get suspicious that you spend so much time writing to her._

_Yeah, they’ve all got good homes. I had to give them away before I left for Europe. I got Winston back after, but the others stayed away. It’s probably better that way, even if it does get a little lonely sometimes. It wouldn’t have been fair of me to uproot their lives like that again. And no, you don’t have to say it._

_Sincerely,_

_  
__Will Graham_

  
  


***

Will’s next letter came only two days after that one. Hannibal’s brows furrowed as he caught sight of the familiar brightly-colored envelope in his stack of mail- today’s color of choice was a mango orange, although their proxy liked to mix it up each time- and he barely refrained from frowning. Will must have sent it off before Hannibal had even received his last one, much less gotten a chance to reply. What could be so important that Will wouldn’t just include it in next week’s letter?

Hannibal opened the envelope carefully, sliding the letter out and unfolding the paper. It was short, much shorter than their usual correspondence. There was no salutation at the top or signature at the bottom, but Hannibal’s heart skipped a beat as he read over the single sentence on the paper. He read it once, then again, and then a third time just to be sure.

The message was simple.

_How would you feel about committing a prison break?_

  
  


***

Will held his breath as he stepped into the BSHCI, too-cold air conditioning and the smell of antiseptic washing over him. He shivered, more so from the memories than the cold.

Alana stood there waiting for him. Her hair was darker than he remembered it, a chocolate brown verging on black. The blazer she wore was canary yellow and the corners of her mouth were downturned. “Will.” She greeted him coolly.

Will gave her a halfhearted smile. “Alana.” They hadn’t been friends in a long time. They hadn’t spoken once since their conversation at Muskrat Farm.

Jack was standing behind her, looking like he was already regretting this meeting. “We’ll need to speak with Dr Lecter.” He told Alana, although surely they had already discussed this before Will had arrived.

She sighed. “Are you sure this is a good idea? Will has barely recovered from the last time we let Hannibal into his head.”

Will scowled at her. “And how would you know? You haven’t spoken to me in a year.”

“Will…”

He sighed. He should probably apologize, even though the words felt like ashes on his tongue. “I know. I promise I’m not going to let him back in. I just need to get in the right mindset to solve this case.”

That wasn’t even fully a lie. He _wasn’t_ going to let Hannibal back into his head; he’d been living there the whole time. Of course, they had no way of knowing that. As far as Alana knew, he’d stopped sending letters months ago.

“I hope so. We won’t leave him alone with you, I promise.” Funny how she made that sound like something she was giving him rather than something she was taking away. “Could you do just one thing for me?”

“That depends on the thing.” He wasn’t particularly inclined to do Alana any favors, but he supposed he should at least try to play nice.

“Don’t mention the letters.”

Will blinked. “Why not?” He hadn’t been planning on it, but he wanted to hear Alana’s justification for it. Would she admit to having hidden them?

At the same time, Jack frowned. “What letters?” He demanded more than asked.

Alana ignored Jack, focusing solely on Will. “I know you write to him sometimes. All of his mail goes through us, so I also know he never responds. He’ll only use it to hurt you, Will, you know that. If you don’t mention them, maybe he’ll do you the courtesy of not using them to taunt you.”

And maybe she did care about that. Maybe she really thought this was what was best for Will, that speaking to Hannibal was already damaging enough to his psyche that he should be spared any further pain. She was wrong, though, and Will knew that at the moment she was mostly motivated by self-preservation. She was worried about what Hannibal might do if he found out she had been hiding the letters. Or perhaps it was Will who frightened her.

“Okay,” he agreed, not wanting to give away that he knew. She needed to remain ignorant, after all, if their plan was to work. “You’re probably right. I just… I don’t understand why he wouldn’t write back. He was always obsessed with me before, I don’t know why that would have changed.”

“Because he’s a narcissistic psychopath.” She answered promptly. “And because he was probably hoping that if he ignored you long enough, you’d visit in person to confront him about it.”

“Well, that’s not why I’m here.” Will lied. Of course it is. He’d killed six people to get here today, to give Jack a reason to call him back into the field, to give himself an excuse to visit Hannibal. Of course, it wasn’t because the other man was ignoring his letters. It was because he _wasn’t_.

Jack still looked concerned, and Alana as though she would rather be anywhere else, but the three of them headed downstairs anyway. Hannibal was held separately from the other prisoners, given his own little slice of luxury in the basement, but it didn’t take them long to get there.

Will took a deep breath before stepping inside. He’d been communicating with Hannibal, of course, but that wasn't the same as seeing him in person. He walked into the room and approached the glass cautiously, Jack and Alana entering the room behind him.

If he hadn’t already known about Hannibal’s extraordinary sense of smell, he would have been surprised when Hannibal spoke without so much as turning around. “Will,” he greeted him, sitting in his chair and facing the opposite wall. There was a book in his hands, but Will knew he was not reading it.

“Dr Lecter,” Will replied coolly. He wished there was no glass between them, wanting nothing more than to reach out and touch him, but he had to pretend he was still angry.

Hannibal turned around, putting the book down and standing up before doing so. “No longer on a first-name basis, are we?” He asked, his tone almost playful. Will scowled in response, glad that his acting skills had improved over the years. “You changed your aftershave,” Hannibal added.

“I’m more comfortable the less personal we are,” Will lied, ignoring the comment about the aftershave. It was true, he had changed it, knowing how much Hannibal had detested his previous one and wanting to be at his best for their long-awaited reunion.

“Then I assume you’re here because you need my help with something. The murders in Charlotte, I would presume?”

Will allowed his lips to quirk up in a small smile before he forced his face to go flat again. “You presume correctly. I’ve been called back to work to profile the killer; we both know I always did my best work when I was talking with you.”

“Then pass me the file. Give me an hour to read over it and I’ll be ready to talk.”

Will nodded, taking the file Jack had given him and walking over to the sliding food tray to hand it over. Hannibal mirrored his movements, waiting patiently on the other side. Will hesitated before reaching in to place the file in the box. There was a gleam of something in the other man’s eye that told Will _something_ was about to happen. He just wasn’t quite sure what.

Placing the file carefully in the tray, he made to withdraw his hand. Before he could, Hannibal moved, lightning-fast, and wrapped cold fingers tightly around Will’s wrist. Will’s lips parted in confusion and Hannibal _pulled_ , yanking his arm further through the gap and slamming his shoulder into the glass. Behind him, both Jack and Alana were moving to summon guards, but Will’s attention was all on Hannibal.

“Dr Lecter,” Will said, his voice strained, “let go of me.”

He didn’t want Hannibal to let go. He wanted to stay in that moment forever, wanted to revel in the feeling of Hannibal’s skin against his own. But he worried that if they stayed in this position for even a second longer, his composure might break and then all their plans would be for nothing.

Hannibal’s eyes met Will’s and he leaned down as if in slow motion. His lips ghosted over Will’s exposed wrist, tantalizingly close. Will knew what he was about to do a heartbeat before he did it and inhaled sharply. “ _Hannibal_ -” he warned.

Will had barely opened his mouth before Hannibal’s tongue crept between parted lips, licking along Will’s vein as though he could taste the blood pulsing underneath. The look in his eyes was positively mischievous.

Will stood, frozen, for several seconds before reality came crashing back down and he jerked away. He pulled his arm out of the box with as much force as he could muster. Hannibal’s forehead slammed into the edges of the box but his grip on Will’s wrist did not loosen. Their position had been reversed now, Hannibal pressed against the glass of the cage while his hand reached through to the other side.

This only lasted for a second before something small and black hit Hannibal’s hand and he grunted in pain, letting go of Will’s hand and pulling his arm back into the cage. It took a moment for Will to recognize the wires and the clicking noise that accompanied them. He glanced up to see Chiyoh, a taser in her hand and a no-nonsense expression on her face. _Really,_ he wanted to ask her, but he couldn’t do so without risking her cover. She had gotten herself stationed as a guard several weeks ago in preparation for the grand escape.

The electricity stopped and Hannibal pulled the darts out of his hand, his usual stoic expression replaced with one of mingled pain and resentment. Will knew he was most likely exaggerating his reaction, but it was unpleasant to see him in pain regardless.

“Are you all right?” Alana asked Will, shooting a glare at Hannibal as though all of this was his fault. Which, to be fair, it mostly was.

Will nodded shakily, allowing her to guide him away from the glass. He gave one last glance at Hannibal- who by now seemed to have recovered from his impromptu electrocution and was now looking at Will with that mischievous expression again- before turning to Jack. “I think I’d like to leave now,” he said, his voice quieter than he would have liked it.

Surprisingly enough, that was true. As much as he’d like to spend more time with Hannibal, he was sure to break character if he stayed any longer in the man’s presence. And besides, he didn’t want to let Hannibal see just how much that brief amount of contact had affected him. He was sure he already knew, had felt Will’s pulse racing as he tasted his skin, but Will felt the urge to retreat anyway. Their relationship had taken many forms, but there had never been a physical element to it- apart from attempted murders, of course- and Will’s feelings when Hannibal had looked at him like that had been far from murderous.

Still, at least he knew now how Hannibal intended to land himself in the infirmary that night. They would have to check him over- both for the head injury and the lingering effects of being tasered- and that was when they would strike.

It was time to stage a break-out.

  
  


***

“Guards!” Chiyoh shouted, pushing Hannibal through the halls in the confines of his straitjacket. Hannibal smiled indulgently, allowing himself to be manhandled. “I need help!”

One of the other prison guards turned the corner to see what was wrong. He blanched when he caught sight of Hannibal. “Are you crazy?” He demanded. “That’s the Chesapeake Ripper! You’re not supposed to let him out of his cell!”

“He was tased earlier today.” She explained in a rushed voice. “He’s been complaining all afternoon of a discomfort in his chest but I thought it was nothing. A few minutes ago he started saying there was a pain in his left arm.”

The man frowned. “So? He’s killed dozens of people, I’m sure he can stand a little pain.”

Hannibal committed the man’s face to memory. He would be getting a visit from the Ripper soon enough- assuming he survived the prison break, anyway. The odds weren’t exactly in his favor.

“He’s showing all the signs of a heart attack!” Chiyoh hissed. She was a decent actress, especially considering that she’d spent her entire adult life alone with no one but the prisoner for company. Hannibal was quite proud of her. “I don’t know if he’s faking or not but I can’t let a prisoner die on my watch. Help me get him to the infirmary!”

The man scowled, but he did indeed help Chiyoh herd Hannibal up the stairs and down the hall. When they entered the infirmary, Chiyoh locked the doors behind them.

“Just in case,” she said when the other guard gave her a questioning look.

The doctor on duty hurried over. “What’s wrong with him?” She demanded.

“I do believe I’m having a heart attack,” Hannibal said, smiling up at her pleasantly.

She blinked, taken off guard by his relaxed demeanor.

Before she could say anything, Chiyoh struck. A baton to the head was enough to take care of that problem, knocking her out cold; the other guard opened his mouth to call for help, reaching for his own weapon, but Chiyoh was faster. She tased him and he went down.

Cutting Hannibal loose from his straitjacket, she glanced up at the security cameras. “We have five minutes before they notice the escape. Move quickly.”

Hannibal grabbed the baton from the fallen guard’s belt. He had a distaste for such bland and uninteresting weapons- he would much prefer a good scalpel or even an ordinary knife- but desperate times call for desperate measures. They didn’t have time to be digging through the medical inventory for something suitably sharp. “I trust Will will be joining us?” He questioned, pressing his heel down to crush the fallen guard’s throat.

“Already here.” Will’s voice came from further inside the infirmary. Hannibal spun around, delighted, although he was internally berating himself for not having scented his beloved immediately.

“Will.” He breathed.

Will smiled teasingly. He was dressed in a guard’s uniform, just like Chiyoh, and his dark curls were hidden under the hat. Hannibal’s feet moved of their own accord, meeting Will in the center of the room and gripping him like his life depended on it. He couldn’t be certain that Will would return his affections, but he was certainly aware of them, so Hannibal didn’t bother resisting the impulse to kiss him.

The kiss was soft, tender, completely at odds with the scene that surrounded them. Will broke it off after a few seconds. “Well,” he said, looking up at Hannibal with surprise written on his features. “That was unexpected.”

“Was it?” Hannibal asked with a small frown. “I thought I had made my intentions rather clear.”

“Yeah, that display in your cell this morning was… that was really something. But I guess I still didn’t think…”

“You mean to tell me you hadn’t realized before then?"

The two of them were left staring at one another, dumbfounded, until Chiyoh coughed pointedly. “Less kissing, more running,” she insisted. “You can discuss this later.”

Hannibal nodded, but before he could turn away towards the door, Will was moving forward. His lips pressed against Hannibal’s in another kiss, just as gentle as the last. Once again, he pulled away quickly, but this time he was smiling when he did so. “Yeah,” he said, looking up at Hannibal with affection in his eyes. “Later.”

And they ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hannibal: I love you will and I would do anything for you
> 
> will: yeah haha but a platonic love right? completely platonic? no romance involved? you definitely don't want to kiss me right
> 
> hannibal: ...will, darling, you're an idiot


End file.
